


Adventures in Babysitting

by betweenthebliss



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, F/M, Gen, Kid Fic, if not for those meddling aliens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-10
Updated: 2014-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-08 06:41:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1930551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betweenthebliss/pseuds/betweenthebliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>McCoy, Spock, Uhura, and Sulu came back from an away mission a little different than they were when they went down. Chapel tries not to find this at all adorable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adventures in Babysitting

**Author's Note:**

> I just found this in an old folder and decided it was worth cleaning up and posting. I actually want to turn this into a longer thing at some point, focus on all four "Woops I'm a six year old" perspectives, but for now, have this. Written for where_no_woman's story dice drabblefest, once upon a time.

"I don't care, I'm jumping on the bed and you can't stop me," the little girl declares, swinging her long ponytail over her shoulder as she heaves herself up onto the bed, while the Vulcan boy looks on with his arms crossed over his chest.

"I could quite easily stop you," he says primly, "but I will not resort to physical altercations."

Another boy barrels in from the next room, flinging himself up onto the bed and starting to jump in tandem with the girl. "What if it's two on one?" he challenges, then adds, "Lighten up, Spock, you could try to enjoy yourself."

The Vulcan turns to face the third human child in the room, dwarfed by the chair he sits in while he reads. "Doctor?"

The other boy waves his hand without looking up. "I'm ignoring all of you."

From the doorway, Captain Kirk glances at Christine with a smirk, and says in an undertone, "You turned the recorder on like I asked, right?"

Christine grins. "Of course," she says, mock-offended that he had to ask. "You think I'm missing out on the chance to remember this in perfect detail for the rest of my natural life?"

"Just because I'm shorter all of a sudden doesn't mean my hearing's gotten worse," McCoy calls, again without looking up from his padd, and Christine covers her grin with a hand.

"Unfortunately Doctor, since right now you're not my boss--" and thank you Starfleet Regulation 425.8a, which mandates the removal from command of any officer under the influence of any form of scientifically induced physical, mental or emotional regression-- "I'm afraid you're going to have to drink your juice box, eat your macaroni and cheese, and deal with it." Right on cue, Yeoman Rand materializes to inform the captain that the aforementioned items have been programmed into the replicators, and Christine tries not to take an evil amount of joy in how adorable Spock and McCoy's tiny scowls are.

It's funny, of course. It kind of has to be. No one-- Christine includes the Captain and herself in this, too-- has let themselves wonder what'll happen if the effects of the alien metamorphosis ray don't wear off. If they can't figure out a way to _make_ them wear off.

Thank God that's not entirely on her shoulders. It's a fascinating problem, she's got to admit-- half science, half particle physics, which means she and M'Benga are going to be getting real friendly with Scotty and Chekov for the next few hours while they try to find a solution.

Of course a few hours turns into several, and after almost a full shift cooped up in a room with three men muttering unintelligibly to themselves, sometimes not even in Standard, Christine's about ready to tear her hair out. She demands a break and heads down to the spare quarters where they're keeping the affected crew members (and she _doesn't_ think of them as "the kids", not anywhere within a hundred yards of a telepath, even if he does need skin-to-skin contact to read her). Inside it's dim; Uhura and Sulu are curled up asleep, dwarfed by the giant bed, and Spock is sitting cross-legged at the foot of it with a padd on his knee. He nods gravely at her and she nods back; he's not who she came to see, and he knows it.

McCoy is still in the chair he'd commandeered before she left, hours ago, the book put aside as he scans a padd, the occasional swipe of his fingers turning the pages of what she assumes is his daily feed of medical journals and the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. He glances up at her, and it's funny how familiar that look of resentful resignation is, but it's also not funny at all. Her heart twists and she kneels down in front of the chair, reaching up to brush back the hair from his face.

"Don't do that," he says irritably, jerking away. "Just 'cause I'm tiny--"

"I just wanted to see you better," Christine says, but she drops her hand into her lap. "I came to let you know we're getting closer to plotting the exact combination of particles that you were hit with. Geoff was right; there was a spore mixed in with the ray somehow. So once we get that analyzed..." she trails off as she sees his hands go still and his shoulders slump.

"And here I was hopin' you'd come to tell me I'm gonna be cured," he says wryly.

"I'm sorry," she says softly. "Not yet."

Leonard shrugs, but keeps his eyes on the padd. "Not your fault," he says. "Those aliens-- I hope Jim's gonna kick their interfering blue scaly asses."

It sounds so vehement in such a small voice, and Christine can't help a smile. "You kiss your mother with that mouth?" she teases, and earns another glare that sends her into giggles she has to cover her mouth with both hands to hide.

"I'd like to be back to normal so I could be kissing you," he mutters, blushing bright red and not looking at her. "Was really looking forward to us both having tomorrow off."

"Me too," she sighs, shifting her weight to one side and leaning her weight against the chair, her cheek pillowed on the armrest as she looks up at him. "But there'll be others." She grins and adds, "Besides, after this, Jim owes me big time."

That earns her a smirk, and he puts the padd aside with a sigh. "I'm tired," he announces. "What time is it?"

"The time is twenty-one fourteen hours," the computer recites, and Leonard scowls.

"It is so not bedtime," he complains, not even bothering to tell Christine not to laugh this time.

"Come here," she says, getting up and moving to the couch. It's big and comfortable and she sinks into it with a happy sigh. "Len, come here," she says again, patting the space beside her. Finally he does, curling up next to her with his head on her knee. Her hand drops into his hair, and after a moment she feels some of the tension seep out of him.

"It's going to be okay," she tells him. Normally he wouldn't want to hear that, would argue with her if she said it, but tonight he's just quiet. Accepting or maybe just choosing not to argue, she doesn't much care. She doesn't need him to validate her optimism; right now she just needs to voice it with no naysaying. She runs her fingers through his hair, listening to his breathing slow and deepen, and decides she'll count to a hundred before slipping a pillow under his head and going back to her own quarters.

They're both asleep before she gets to fifty.


End file.
